


A Case of Do or Die

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drag Queens, Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar, Kissing, M/M, Succubi & Incubi, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Scott are in pursuit of an incubus. They end up at Jungle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Case of Do or Die

**Author's Note:**

> Initially based on [this](http://lozenger8.tumblr.com/post/48892796322), not that I ever seem to need an excuse for writing Scott/Stiles these days. Title from 'As Time Goes By'.
> 
> None of the standard warnings seemed appropriate for this story, however there is an instance of an OC being under the thrall of an incubus and being touched in a way he does not consent to. This is not described in graphic detail.

Stiles has been to Jungle countless times since trying to save Danny from the kanima, sometimes at the beck and call of Candi Naples, the drag queen who took him under her wing. He's still not entirely sure why she put him under her wing, but it's warm and affectionate there and he's learned so much of so many things he never thought he would that he's not complaining.

He likes Jungle. He isn't treated like a pariah, although he does get approximately nine thousand 'oh, sweetie's at his choice of clothes. One time, he let Candi style him, but Candi had apparently been feeling mischievous and decided Stiles looked good in a mesh shirt. Stiles has seen Candi when she's Andrew, so he knows that isn't her entire repertoire. He's seen clean lines and flattering cuts; opaque material. (It isn't like Stiles doesn't know what's fashionable, really, in the eyes of others. It's more about comfort. He's a growing boy, dammit, he needs his space. And that isn’t always as kinky it as it sounds.)

Anyway, he was really hoping he'd never have to go to Jungle on business again, partly because he didn't want anything bad to happen around this found family he's grown to appreciate, and partly for the more selfish reason of not being sure how he'd explain to Scott that this is where he goes when Scott's training and trading witty repartee with Isaac.

"All the indicators say the incubus is gonna go after its prey there," Scott had said calmly upon Stiles' whine.

So Stiles is here, at Jungle, trying to blend into the background. And the thing about Scott is that he's super observant when he has cause to be. He's attentive. And he has noticed that everyone knows Stiles' name, that he has a usual (virgin pinacolada --- that Candi never fails to order saying the tired joke of, "emphasis on the virgin, darling!") He narrows his eyes at Stiles, opens his mouth a fraction as if he's about to speak.

"Yes, yeah, Scott, yes, yes, and no," Stiles says, before the barrage of questions can come. Scott opens his mouth again, clearly to ask how he knew what he was going to ask and what, exactly were each of those answers for. "Yes I come here a lot, yeah Scott, it's since you and Isaac became bestest buds, yes I'm still a little sore over that, yes I know you still love me, and no, I'm not gay for you," Stiles says. He spreads his hands out wide. "I am, however, bi. Not necessarily for you."

"I was just gonna ask if I could have a sip, but okay," Scott says with a shrug. He turns his most evil of devilish smirks on Stiles, but it’s laced with another expression that’s difficult to decipher. "I'm proud of you, bro."

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. Stiles, you didn't think I'd follow you when I realized you were going out instead of staying at home like I asked? This could've been dangerous. You might’ve gotten assaulted by spandex."

Stiles hates it when Scott's sassy. That's his role. Scott’s confident in his natural hilarity, one eyebrow quirked. Stiles wants to squish his cheeks, but he can’t tell if it’s because he thinks he’s adorable or because he wants to humiliate him. 

"You know that's not what I meant."

"To be honest, I didn't think it was a secret?"

Scott jitters, as if he’s distracted and brimming with energy. Once again, that’s usually Stiles’ line. 

Stiles rolls his shoulders, looks around the club. "Is there even an incubus?"

Scott's teasing expression straightens into a smooth, determined glance in the same direction as Stiles. "Yeah, there is. He's in the club, I can sense him. But I can't pinpoint where. We've gotta be careful when we follow him. Deaton said he can get nasty."

"Nastier than trying to suck someone's life-force out through repeated application of a raging boner?"

"Repeated appli... no, you know what, I'm leaving that one alone," Scott mutters.

He takes another sip of Stiles' drink, goes into a half-trance, eyes scanning the crowd. Stiles tries not to think about how this feels huge and insignificant all at once. It's not like he ever thought Scott would have trouble accepting him, it's more that he was still puzzling through it himself, so it’s weird to have it out in the open, this label he’s finally decided to adopt for himself. 

And it’s strange combining his two disparate worlds --- Scott, whom he’s known for seemingly ever and yet still surprises, and the bar he’s known only for a couple months, where, perhaps, all of his secrets are known. His secrets, no one else’s. If everyone knows about the werewolves and other things that go crash, bang, wallop in the night, they’re being tight lipped. 

“I have him in my sights,” Scott says, hushed. He glances at Stiles, suddenly serious. “He’s leading someone out the club --- one’s tall, chiseled, fair haired, wearing a tan jacket, the other’s the incubus. D’you see them?”

Stiles searches, his eyes finally alighting on Ryan, one of the other regulars, (though Stiles has never really understood why Ryan, who is a cross between Isaac, Derek and Scott in the looks department; i.e, insanely attractive, is a regular at Jungle when he could have any guy he wants just by saying his name) being led outside by a guy who’s shorter than he is, brown haired, and good-looking, but not God-like. Stiles has read that incubi were supposed to be irresistible, but he looks forgettable. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. His heart beats differently from a human’s. Sort of like the sound of rain against a tin roof rather than a drum, you know?”

Stiles loses his skepticism. He can’t help it. He is continually astounded by werewolves. “It is so cool that you can hear that from here.”

Scott spares him a small smile, proud, but not smug. He mostly looks pleased that Stiles is impressed by him. “I know, right?”

“What next?”

“We have to follow them.”

Stiles throws his hands up. “Why did I ask?”

“Stealthily,” Scott adds, pinning Stiles with something attempting to be a glare. Stiles has seen Scott’s murderous little face levelled at villains, but Scott’s never seemed to manage it at him. 

They shuffle and shimmy across the club, Stiles getting stopped twice, by Eddie, who just wants to drunkenly say hi, and Candi’s best friend Victoria, who wants to know who Stiles’ hot boyfriend is. 

“I’m Scott,” Scott says with a wide grin and a kiss to Victoria’s ring bejeweled hand. “But, uh, we’ve gotta go make out. Hard. Outside. Because it’ll get steamy. And I know everyone here would probably enjoy the show, but, uh, I’d like it to be a tender moment.”

He glances at Stiles as if both wary and wanting approval. Stiles grants it, because he can never resist those beseeching eyes, gives a strained smile and follows as Scott continues tugging him toward the exit, helping him slip and slide between the gyrating bodies of Jungle patrons. They’re not so stealthy as they go out the door, mainly because Stiles’ feet never do what Stiles’ brain tells them to do and he trips on the metal lip that he knows is there. He flails out the doorway, arms cartwheeling. Scott catches him around the middle, exasperation written across all of his features. He swings Stiles up, then sails him back against the wall. 

Stiles has a protest and an enquiry on the tip of his tongue, but it quickly gets snatched away by Scott’s. Literally. Scott’s tongue licks his and takes every word he was going to say far, far away, never to be heard again. Scott frames his jaw with one hand, pressing his thumb into his chin as if to open his mouth wider. He kisses with purpose, with intent, and Stiles is not at all ashamed to say he cranes into it, clutches at Scott’s shoulder and loose shirt, bunching the material between his fingers. 

When Scott said they’d be making out, he really never actually thought they’d be making out. It always felt like a dream too far.

This is warmer than Stiles ever thought it would be, not as wet. He loves the way Scott’s fingers flutter against his jaw, how his lips glide against his, never tentative, but never exactly demanding either. Moans as Scott sucks lightly on his tongue, rubs one thigh between his. He’s dimly aware Scott’s spinning him in place, that the kisses change angle, that this was a cover-up, a ploy, an evasion tactic, but Scott is still kissing him and that’s all he really cares about in this second. 

When he pulls away, Scott looks sheepish. “Sorry,” he whispers, eyes darting from down the alleyway back to Stiles’ face. “I wasn’t supposed to get carried away.”

“Don’t be,” Stiles replies, shaking himself out. He knows that pretty soon they’re going to embark on some high-scale stalking. He also knows that he’s feeling like taking the biggest risk of his life and it has nothing to do with an incubus. “Unless you’re planning on never doing that again, at which point, yeah, I’ll accept that apology.”

Scott blinks, gazes, looking awe-struck. “You wanna..?” He doesn’t complete the thought. He probably knows he doesn’t need to.

“Just because something isn’t necessary, doesn’t mean it isn’t awesome,” Stiles says, starting to saunter down the alleyway in the direction he’s assuming the incubus went. Scott tags alongside, matching his strides. “And I’m not necessarily bi for you, but that kiss was a convincing argument.”

Scott smiles, wide open and beautiful. Really beautiful. “All right,” he says.

“All right?”

“Definitely. Those plans won’t be made. Other plans will be. You can even have a say in them if you want.”

They catch up to the incubus at the single high-priced hotel in Beacon Hills. Scott climbs the fire escape, with Stiles piggyback riding him in an instance that is never going to be mentioned ever again so long as Stiles shall live. They’re supposed to only conduct surveillance and then contact the pack, but the incubus must sense them, because he doesn’t go in for the protracted sex acts that Stiles expects and instead is obviously draining Ryan then and there on the spot. 

“Aww crap, this sucks, both literally and figuratively,” Stiles says, before shrugging at Scott’s glance.

The incubus is gratifyingly surprised and disarmed by the teenagers who assail him through the window, but not enough to just roll over and beg forgiveness. He may be shorter than them, but he’s strong. He flings Ryan onto the bed and clearly takes great exception to Scott’s claws, because he rapidly transforms. His other form is kind of sickening and strangely alluring and that’s when Stiles realizes how truly powerful he must be. Stiles clicks his Derek speed-dial and explains the situation in as few words as possible. Thankfully, Derek understands taciturn and uncommunicative.

He wants to help Scott in the fight, because already it’s bloody and filled with disturbing crunching noises and howls, but every time he goes close, Scott rounds on him with an angry growl; equal parts endearing and diminishing. Eventually he goes and hauls a drawer from the nightstand and clocks the incubus on the head as Scott’s distracting him with a bite to the jugular. 

“Didn’t I growl at you to stay away?” Scott laments, actually looking nonplussed that the incubus is out cold.

“Is that what those sounds indicated? I thought you wanted me to save your wolfy ass, as per usual.”

“I wanted you to save your own hairy ass for once.”

“Hey! I object! You don’t know that it’s---”

“Post-match showers, dude.”

Stiles looks Scott all over, assessing. He’s blushing, from his collar up. It’s arresting and makes Stiles want to grab at him, haul him close and see just how heated his skin can get. 

“You really do wanna get all up in this,” he says wonderingly, gesturing at himself. 

Scott watches him, suppresses a chuckle and what appears to be some mild ridicule. There’s a definite ‘duh’ in Stiles’ periphery that he’d be outraged by except for how he’s discovering something he never even knew he wanted.

The pack arrives as if on cue, with Derek rolling his eyes at them and Boyd looking mildly stunned. Isaac and Erica set to work tying up the incubus and getting the book Derek’s supposed to read from organized. 

When everything is said and done, the incubus powerless and well-warned, Ryan dazed and confused but also safe at home, the pack dispersed, Stiles leans against Scott and sighs. 

“I think you promised me a tender moment earlier. I’d like to collect.”

Scott drags him close, scrubs his hand through his hair. “There, there,” he murmurs, softly. 

Stiles fends him off with a couple of slaps. “Oh my God.”

Scott kisses him just as swiftly as before, all pressing lips and inviting tongue, but this time stops, eases back, looking awkward and unsure. His eyes search Stiles’ face, so he attempts to make his expression as open as he can. He knows it’ll take words, though. Sometimes that’s what Scott needs. 

“Don’t,” Stiles says forcefully, cupping the back of his neck and pressing him forward again. “Don’t give me this and then take it away in the name of Stiles-preservation. I thought --- I knew you wouldn’t, but still, part of me, that dark voice inside, thought you were doing that with your friendship, and I can handle werewolves and incubi and you singing Thrift Shop nine hundred times in a row, but I can’t handle that. So please, if this hesitation is that, cast it aside.”

Scott brushes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I was just gonna ask if my breath stinks after I accidentally chowed down on the incubus, but okay.”

This time, Stiles kisses Scott.


End file.
